When you respond to my email,all of the planets swirl about me,even Pluto joining in.The caterpillar announces herself as a butterfly.The grapes ripen for meand stretch their tendrils to my neighbor’s garden.Ishtar comes back to lifeand sings her songfor the ruined cities,washes the dust off her face,spins like an elegant dancer,sends all the soldiers back hometo the arms of their loved ones,and bandages the broken legof this little bird,who was also woundedin the land between two rivers.She counts the holesin her robe and goes to sleep.But I am still waiting for your email.The screen reflects my tired eyesand the hands of my watch are embracingin the middle of your silence.